Negotiations Fell Through
by AzerBlazer
Summary: Crime!AU, ThraxOzzy . Thrax goes to meet the Crime Don, Scabies, but a temperamental waiter catches his eye.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Negotiations fell through

**Fandom**: Osmosis Jones

**Pairings:**Thrax/Ozzy

**Summary**:AU, ThraxOzzy. Thrax goes to meet the Crime Don, but a temperamental waiter catches his eye.

**Author Notes: **Please forgive the various twists I've done to suit my story. It is AU after all. Reviews are love. Oh and If you want to see Ozzy in a waiter's outfit, Check my profile; I've got a link to it.

**oOo**

Heavy beats reverberated throughout the club as Thrax leaned back more into the shadows. He was here to meet with the resident Crime Don, Scabies; the whole thing was fishy, so he had already scoped out all the exits. It wasn't reassuring to know that Scabies owned this club either.

If the Don proved to be more trouble than he was worth, Thrax would kill him with no hesitation. It would be easier to gain access to the brain if there was a distraction though, henchmen were needed for that.

Casting another roving eye through the club, he apathetically watched the females as they danced and served and sat on client's laps. Through the swarm of short skirted women he saw a flash of black pants. Upon closer inspection he surmised that he was looking at the only male waiter working the joint, bar the bartender. Black tight pants, black vest, long sleeved white button shirt, an amusing crooked grimace as a tipsy customer ran her hands over his ass as he passed by.

The cell headed his way, tray in hand and maneuvering with experience around the tables, drunk cells, germs and the occasional fight. As he passed by his shadowed table, Thrax could make out a square jaw framed with a small goatee, and expressive eyes with a slight crazed look to them.

"Jones, it's good to see you're still alive." The table next to him was full of germs, probably small fry in Scabies' service.

The waiter, Jones, made a dismissive noise, "Is it really such a surprise?" He unloaded several orders. A germ, clearly intoxicated, slumped forward and belched, "Dunno," he slurred, "How can you survive without your precious little gun and badge to protect you?"

Jones froze, so did all the other germs not trashed enough to ignore the sudden leashed anger emanating from the waiter. With a nonchalant air, he slammed the germ's order onto his face, tray and all. Shaking the tray over the unconscious germ now on the floor, he made sure all the food fell on his face.

Without another word, he stalked back to the kitchens.

As he once again passed Thrax's table, the virus snagged his sleeve in passing.

"I'd like to order." Thrax eyed the tray warily as it moved, but all the cell did was pin it between his arm and side, a small pad appearing alongside a pencil. The cell snorted at the direction of his gaze, and shifted his weight onto the other foot. Nodding at the spacious table, "You waiting for someone, or just want a place for your imaginary friends?"

Thrax chuckled lowly and flicked his head slightly, "I'm-"

"Meeting me." A low voice rasped behind Jones. The waiter's neutral expression slipped down into a scowl; he stepped aside quickly. Thrax raised a semi interested eyebrow, dismissing it to eye the bigger threat in the room.

"So you're the crime don of Frank city."

The Don tilted his head lightly, his three ever present henchmen pulling out a seat for him before sitting themselves. Waving a languid hand he addressed the waiter without looking at him.

"The usual, Jones; and send them with one of the girls. I'm not in the mood for your attitude right now."

Gritting his teeth, Jones met Thrax's eyes briefly before looking away, storming to the kitchens; the scowl he wore was warning enough as people gave him a wide berth as he cut through the crowd. Thrax followed him as he went, eyes slipping down the length of the cells body. Lingering at his ass, Thrax made a 'hmm' noise from the back of his throat.

_'Not bad.'_

Peering at the Don with half lidded eyes he toyed with his chain, " You don't seem like the type to have an employee who so openly hates you."

Scabies shrugged, folding his hands together so the huge rings glinted in the strobe light. "Jones has the keenest gut instinct I've seen in a white blood cell. He got in the way too many times, so I blackmailed and completely destroyed his reputation; safer for him to be under my thumb than in Immunity."

Thrax filed this away, before steering the conversation to negotiating for Scabies' help to get to the brain.

**oOo**

Ozzy felt embarrassment burn through him still, treated like a child in front of someone who even Scabies was wary of. He'd seen the way all of Scabies' men filled the tables surrounding the black trench-coated man.

He grabbed a waitress who was giggling shyly on the lap of a customer. Picking her up and setting her down gently he shoved his tray and notepad into her hands. "Scabies, second table from the back door." She instantly became serious and nodded, bidding her disappointed customer goodbye, and heading over to the kitchens immediately.

The man, in an expensive wrinkled suit, scowled at him, lamenting the loss of his lap warmer. Ozzy sneered back and strode past him to the bar, where his friend had just finished serving a couple drinks. Setting himself down heavily, he slumped on the table and groaned out a indistinguishable mumbles into the counter top.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you insist on making out with the counter top, I'm afraid I need to tell you to get a room."

Ozzy groggily looked up and stuck his tongue out; he regretted ever teaching Drix a sense of humor. The pill wasn't even suppose to be in Frank at all; he came upon Ozzy on the way to the bowels a couple days ago. Saved him from being kicked around by some of the germs. It was a game they played every so often, to see how many germs at a time he could take on and come away relatively unscathed. This time there had been around 6 of them, but Ozzy worked well with mob rushes; it gave him the opportunity to stretch around them, bouncing around person to person like a lunatic. And with Drix freezing some of them, he walked away with only a black eye.

Invited him to a cheap take out as thanks, and after a couple awkward starts, they got to talking. About Drix's cool abilities, Ozzy's time as part of the Immunity. Well into the night, and after a couple of drinks, Ozzy began to reluctantly tell how he'd lost his job, and now worked for the biggest scum-bag in town. Since the bowels were closed at that time, Drix would have to go in the morning, so Ozzy offered his couch for the night.

Somehow, instead of going to the bowels the next day, he ended up at the club/ restaurant where Ozzy worked and applied for a job. Ozzy has never told him, but the cold pill just might be his first friend. It worked okay for a couple of days, and Drix was smart; he picked up the skill easily. The pill was also a kind of bouncer as well. No one wants to argue with someone Drix's size who had a cannon attached to one arm, after all.

Then Scabies heard about the fight and sent some of his better cronies to "send him a message" this morning. It was why his stomach hurt so much right now, they'd grabbed him so he couldn't squeeze his way out before a couple good hits landed.

A glass clinked in front of him and he eyed it suspiciously.

"It's not poisoned." Drix said, raising an eyebrow in exasperation.

"Pfft. I'm suppose to _believe _that?" Ozzy shot back.

Drix rolled his eyes and went to the the other end of the bar to serve a germ who had just come up. Ozzy took it and slowly turned it side to side, a commotion started up somewhere in the background. He didn't really pay attention though, Scabies' men would take care of it.

Drix had his back turned to the room, busy with the order; so he chugged the drink in one go. When he finished, he tasted something grainy in it. Ozzy grimaced. Setting it down, he propped his head up on a hand, still ignoring the hush that settled over the club. He was good at it, ignoring his surroundings whenever Scabies was his vicinity.

"What was in the drink?"

"Something to lessen the pain." Damn, the pill really was too observant.

As Drix turned, he glanced at the empty glass, amused at his friend's stubbornness. "You didn't drink it, did you?"

"Nope, some other guy did. Why would I need a painkiller?" Obstinate to the core.

The bartender huffed lightly and settled his eyes on a spot above Ozzy's head, prompting Ozzy to look up at Drix's silence.

"There's someone right behind me isn't there?"

Drix nodded at that, and turned. Presumably to make another order, but Ozzy knew he would be loading his cannon. Sucking his teeth he inhaled and spun around; only to freeze, as the painfully familiar medallion was all but shoved in his face.

"Negotiation's fell through I'm afraid." A low smooth voice spoke, making him rip his attention off the jewelry. Meeting acid yellow eyes, he leaned back as confident and calm as he could. "Oh yeah?"

"Ozzy," Something in Drix's voice made him instantly discard the dangerous man to look at the pill. As his head was turned, he missed the frown that flitted across Thrax's face at his easy dismissal.

Drix had removed his black apron, "That table is on fire." Ozzy might have said that sounded ridiculous had there not been a threatening man not five inches from his face. Looking over the aforementioned man's shoulder he saw that, yes, Scabies' table was on fire.

"Damn it." He breathed out, "Drix contain that before it spreads would you? The locker room is behind that wall."

Drix was already jumping over the bar, warning people to not panic and to stay clear. Ozzy finally faced Thrax, wiggling his eyebrows to go along with his leer, even as nerves ran through him. "I could kiss you for getting rid of Scabies, but I-"

He was cut off as a tongue that wasn't his invaded his mouth. Claws gripped the sides of his head, pressing lightly but gripping tightly as a warning to not move until the other was done. Curse his twisted sense of humor.

Ozzy tried to yell something unflattering about Thrax, balling up his hands in the man's trench coat, tugging futilely. It was completely useless of course, the man was no cell, he didn't have the same feel of one. Solid, was the word that came to mind; strong was another. The tongue halfway down his throat was almost pointy, and thorough in its explorations, not to mention hot as hell.

Despite himself, he started to get flushed as the other took advantage of the fact that everyone was watching the other side of the room; pinning Ozzy to the bar and pressing his own body to the cell's.

_'Huh, so its not just his tongue that's hotter than normal.'_

When two cell's kissed, their mouths became literally attached, and briefly they shared the same membrane. Thrax had no way of knowing this, of course, so he was surprised when the mouth he was currently enjoying began to seal itself over his lips, and sucked in his tongue. Groaning, deep in his throat he pressed back even harder.

Ozzy tried to open his heavy eyelids, as he felt the vibration from his groan and damn if it wasn't one of the sexiest things he's heard. Finally, Thrax detached his mouth from Ozzy's and began to kiss a path down his neck, his claws sliding down to knead at the cell's hands.

Disoriented at first, Ozzy blinked muzzily to get rid of the fog in his head, "Wha-" he gasped and cut off as the taller male, who was leaning down practically curled around Ozzy, _sucked_ the juncture between his neck and shoulder. "Wait, wait! I don't even _know_ you and you're already-"

"Thrax" was the short growled answer, the voice having gotten even lower and rougher, and holy spit was he grabbing his _ass_?

A polite cough, made both of them freeze. Thrax whirled and one of his claws lit up and stopped at Drix's chest. The pill similarly had his cannon pointed square at Thrax's face. "If you both are done, the private rooms are upstairs." Ozzy would have groaned, if he wasn't trying to suck in as much as possible now that Thrax wasn't making the air around him heavy. He laid his head back on the bar, back halfway onto the counter top anyway; his body was sluggish and he felt a distinct disinclination in moving away from the man still between his legs.

Thrax smirked smugly at the cell, prompting Ozzy to scowl at him on sheer principal. Without another word, Thrax turned and strode out, satisfaction oozing out of every movement he made. Ozzy made a face at that.

"So-"

"Not one word Drixenol, not one word."

The pill's knowing look spoke louder than anything he could have shouted anyway. Conversation started cautiously around them once again, and Drix tied his apron back on. He began wiping down the bar surface, stopping for a second as he reached the medallion, winking innocently in the strobe light. Picking it up gingerly, he threw it in the bin; and went back to cleaning.

Nonchalantly he said, "He was a virus you know."

Ozzy said nothing, but Drix saw his eyes narrow slightly and glance to the side. "So? Won't see him again, anyway." He replied calmly, too calm.

_'I wouldn't put money on that.'_ Drix mused, eyes lingering on the dark hickies trailing down Ozzy's unbuttoned shirt.

"As a pill, it's your job to fight viruses...ain't it?" Ozzy continued, a subconscious note of accusation slipping into his voice. Drix hummed noncommittally, turning to fill a glass a customer had just given him.

"It _was_ my job, remember?" Ozzy sat down again and began toying with the empty glass that he had most certainly not drunk.

"But now you're just a bartender." There was something in the cell that seemed to relax. Drix was unsure that Ozzy himself was aware of it; he was always incapable of hiding his emotions. Drix said nothing in response though.

He might be working as a bar-tend, but he also put himself in charge of caring for the cell.

Being a friend was first and foremost his priority after all. So next time, he'd give them a couple hours to themselves before loading his cannon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Negotiations fell through

**Fandom**: Osmosis Jones

**Pairings:**Thrax/Ozzy

**Summary**: [Crime!AU, ThraxOzzy]. Thrax goes to meet the Crime Don, Scabies, but a temperamental waiter catches his eye.

**Author Notes: **I've gotten a surprising amount of favorites and requests to continue this one-shot I finally got around to plotting it out. Depending on how impatient I am it could range quite a couple of chapters. Although I've got the basic plot points down things are still in the works. Because of course that's what my darling readers wanted right? Some plot and building up of UST instead of just porn?

**(Warning: author is evil and a tease.)**

****I believe I have all the varied authors of plotting articles I read from the internet to thank. And the wonderfully handy website 750words . com. If you wish to prompt yourself to just start writing check it out.

As always, hope you enjoy and review, if only to tell me what you thought about the lack of porn in this, I eagerly await your curses.

* * *

The massive spitstorm following Scabies' death were just as Ozzy feared. Small but violent turf wars were fought, primarily in the pits, but other establishments that Scabies owned were also prime hotspots.

Much to Ozzy's unsuccessfully ignored dissapointment, there had been no sign of Scabies' dispatcher. Even with Ozzy's not inconsiderable ins with many people, no one had seen a glimpse of the perp, tall virus in a black trechcoat - _Thrax_ his treacherous mind supplied-. Ozzy would have shaken it off as a wet dream hallucinations caused by his lack of sex of late, if it weren't for the trail of purpling kiss marks down his neck.

They couldn't have spent more than three minutes over the counter, Thrax worked fast. He had to admit; it let loose a heated coil in his gut at how much Thrax could do with a _lot_ more time- and a bed.

Another equally loud voice chafed under the clear marks of possession, and demanded retribution against anyone who tried to brand him, it was the same voice that pointedly ignored regulation.

"You've been cleaning the same table with the scariest look on your face boss." Chirped one of his workers, her tight leathers marking her as a cage girl for the night, set to work the dance floor, he waved her off with a playful glower as she left to go back to the giggling and scantily dressed group of workers. Most of the women Scabies had hired were very pretty and poorer than his own unemployed self so it was a beautiful and tearful mob that had accosted him and Drix and all but begged them to continue working at the restaurant. At his core protecting the cells of Frank was ingrained; and without his badge or gun, that would never change.

His only stipulation was the stylized sign out front that now read "Ozzy & Drix" and in a small sign over a window that warned: "Armed cells beware- the bartender reserves the right to shoot back."

Many barged in after reading that, spied Drix's bulk waving his arm cannon to prepare someone's drink, and walked right back out again. Ozzy found it hilarious and rested a subtle hand against the illegally acquired gun in his chest holster. He went back to his regular ensemble, sports jacket and grey pants combo, and merely helped to clean before opening time.

"Good afternoon girls."

A chorus of greetings met the pill as he opened the door, juggling various bags filled with liquors and spirits. Ozzy took one about to fall off, and Drix shot him a grateful look before bustling over the counter; a small flush threatened to break over his face, Drix smilingly pretended to take no notice. Close they may have grown, but he did not wish to see Ozzy's most certainly impure thoughts as to what happened yesterday over the same counter top. He'd scrubbed for _hours _afterwards.

It seemed longer than that, but their life was fast and rushed most of the time. Especially after Scabies' demise.

"Cook needed to see you boss" One of the girls called out before going back to the locker and powder room to prep. Ozzy sighed lightly and cracked his neck with a languid motion that made Drix wince. Throwing his rag onto the counter he bid Drix a goodbye, Cook didn't bother to call unless something was truly out of stock.

Ducking into the kitchen he dodged a sharp knife that sprouted on the door frame besides him, and he smirked at Cook's annoyed huff; she was an old cell, keeper of some rundown apartments most of the girls lived at. Crotchety and stubborn, Ozzy could see himself growing old like that, she had a wonderful mastery over her knives as well, her deceased husband part of the Immunity before he died fighting the flare of gout that had afflicted Frank years and years ago.

"Git yer skinny behind here Jones!" She squinted out at him, refusing to wear her glasses more than she needed to, her hunched wrinkled frame by the large fridge, he weaved through the stacks of drying pots. "What's the matter now Cook?"

"The delivery boy hasn't come by today, go rough him up into continuing his service under your name. And try to tone down the white cell act, Immunity gets anywhere near them and they scatter like pollen."

He was strangley proud that after years of service under Scabies, he still wasn't as good a crime lord as Cook.

It gave him hope, although that quickly perished after he acknowledged that he _was _taking pointers from Cook and the other lowlifes that had stayed connected to the restaurant. He was an Immunity through and through, but that'd have to change if he wanted to keep his new charges and himself afloat. He kept pushing that internal dilemma back until there was no choice but to address it.

He took the knife on his way out.

* * *

"FUCK."

Ozzy did nothing but jam the gun tighter against his forehead, noting with a pang Richie's family cowering behind the door.

He hesitated for a moment before scowling back at the whimpering cell. Richie trembled minutely in his coveralls, but the smaller cell kept a brave face, apart from the bitten out swear.

"Who you working for now, Rich? Tell me no lies man, you know how itchy trigger fingers been lately." Ozzy let the leer crawl across his face and the cell's face went a shade paler. There must have been some serious threatening going down because he kept his lips shut.

Ozzy let a frustrated exhale pass before he stepped back, casually and expertly slouching onto the desk littered with orders and receipts. Richie was a good guy, trustworthy, and had a pretty good eye for business, also one of the few innocents willing to play the scummy underworld of germs and crime. Ozzy could not loose him to another.

"You've got till the count of three, Rich." He let his gaze slide deliberately over to where his family peeked out. Richie straightened, and for a minute Ozzy prepared himself for a good fight.

"One."

The cell looked desperately at his wife and kids and back to Ozzy.

"Two." He drawled the word out, his hand gripping the firearm in the grip taught to him, other arm behind him, crossing his fingers in hope.

_'Cmon Richie, you know me, give me a good reason to keep you on.'_

"Two and three quarters..." he aimed his gun back to his head.

"ALRIGHT!" He spread his arms and edged in between Ozzy and his family."...alright, put the piece away Jones."

He didn't budge. "Who?"

A pleading look crossed his face, thick mustache quivering before he slumped down in the discarded chair and tiredly replied, "It's the Foot Fungus. Trich's got his boys shaking me down hard, news travels fast, and Scabies' death was the first thing Trich and his boys confirmed before making a move on everything that was Scabies."

Ozzy sucked his teeth, that...could be a problem. "He got anyone watching you right now?"

Richie nodded towards the outside, "His boys patrol here now, you probably just missed one of their rounds."

Plans and half baked schemes flicked through his mind, before he nodded and clapped Richie on the shoulder, "Take your family, deliver to the restaurant," meaningfully he stowed his gun back inside his jacket, "Stay a while, on the house, Drix is there."

No one messed with the cold pill, not without some serious firepower and even then, the girls and Cook could rally together a decent defense. And Ozzy would worry later, way later, as to what they'd do when Drix's capsules ran out.

The family ran out and they all hugged and exchanged worried chatter, eventually everyone packed onto the truck. Ozzy looked away and stuffed his balled fists into his jacket roughly, thoughts of his own little family kept the remorse from showing on his placid face.

He spied a dark green germ, legless and with an obvious and sorry attempt at hiding his circling around the block. He motioned for the family to go as the garage door opened, he quickly darted out, sunglasses and spit eating smirk on his face; strolling up to the germ and snatching him around the shoulders like an old friend.

"What's happening man? Think you can do me a bit of a favor?" the germ was slow to react and barely seemed to realize the constricting grip Ozzy had on him wasn't at all friendly.

"Hey, what-" With a smooth motion, a gun was aimed in between his three eyes.

His eyebrows furrowed down, "Sources tell me you can get an audience with your boss Trich." Looking over his shoulder he noted that the truck was nowhere to be seen, perfect. "I got some serious business to settle, if you catch my drift. Territorial business." He deliberately put his finger on the trigger, when the germ looked about to stupidly argue. That zipped his mouth faster than expected, Ozzy could get used to this bargaining tool.

A shaky nod was his reward, and he smiled cheerily and tightened his grip before pointing to his parked car.

"After you."

* * *

Trich held back a small whimper that wished to make itself known, the virus seemed to sense it anyway and let out a little huff of amusement. The claw didn't budge an inch.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see his top enforcer, more accurately the _remains _of his right hand man. Poor Scuzz was the last defense between him and the crazy virus. He flinched at another loud clattering and shouts outside his door. _That_ had been happening for the last minutes as well, Trich had a feeling he wouldn't live along to worry about it anyway.

"Well, now." Thrax purred, "Feel any better about my offer? Or must we really go through this whole," a careless gesture with the hand not pointed at his face, " messy process? I've got the time baby, _all_ the time now." A leer overtook his features, and out of all the crazy, deprived cells he'd dealt with, Trich would not hesitate to say this one pulled it off the best.

He was spared the terror of answering as a shout rose above the sudden pressing silence outside his door.

"TRICH, my man! We've got some unsettled business to take care of, cell to fungus." If the leer from before scared him, the delighted smile upon his face had all the color draining from Trich's features. A squelching noise pulled his attention back to the door, where that annoying disgraced cell Jones was now pointing two guns at both of them.

"Well, ain't this a party?" a grin stretched across his blue face and Trich had only time to gloomily think, _'Oh dear Frank, there's two of them.'_ Before he was shoved aside roughly and promptly forgotten.

Slinking, there was no other way to describe it, over to the waiter he'd met only yesterday, Thrax grinned, slicking his hair back casually and paying no attention to the gun still aimed at him. The neat and pressed clothes he'd worn gone, and in its place an ensemble more suited to the crazed grin on Jones' face. A lash of desire swept through him at the peek of bruises still present on the cell's neck.

"_Osmosis_ Jones, fancy seeing you here of all places."

"Thrax was it? Small city, innit?" Ozzy put one gun away keeping the other trained steadily on the virus before him. Part of him wished to resume their earlier actions, right there, on that very wall; the other kept flashing back to Drix and his impromptu lesson on viruses last night. Lust could take a backseat to protecting Frank, no matter how much his baser instincts cursed him for it. It didn't help that the taller man kept his gaze fixated on the small throbbing bruises leading down his neck, a hot flush tried to work its way up but Ozzy stopped paying attention to it in hopes that it'd go away.

"As you can see Jones, I'm kind of occupied at the moment, go take your problems to someone else."

The grating voice of the useless fungus behind Thrax interrupted his perusal, and a rising feeling of annoyance reared when Jones' eyesight focused behind him.

"I don't think so. See now, YOU are my problem. Get your boys outta my turf and I'll happily go about my business _else_where."

Trich, leaning back on his chair snorted, "Turf? No white blood cell has ever had _any _stake on turf."

"I got no badge, but I still got my gun." the fungus stiffened at the aforementioned weapon now trained on him. The normally loud and expressive voice gave way to a quiet festering bitterness, and Trich had to hand it to the late Scabies.

He sure knew how to break them.

Thrax smoothly inserted himself, tired of playing spectator, "So, stepping up to fill in for the big boss now? Wouldn't have thought of you to be so...opportunistic."

Jones turned his delightfully rebellious glare upon him, and Thrax preened internally at the full focus of that deliciously angry attention. "Yeah, some asshat offed Scabies and didn't have the decency to fill in the power vacuum left, so it's either me or another scumbag in charge." Thrax chuckled and leaned closer, smug at the little twitch of movement the cell had made in response. The indifference he was trying to pull off was flawed and so very fake that Thrax wished to see how much he was truly affecting him.

A scraping sound brought Thrax's irritated attention back to the nearly forgotten fungus. He snarled and lit up his claw inches from a dazedly blinking Jones, as the useless scrap of dna before him pointed a gun in their direction.

"Get the hell out of my base, both of you. " Trich held the gun with both hands, in a position that would bruise him when the kick back hit; but his eyes were wide and his upper lip trembled slightly over his snarl.

Aiming it towards Thrax suddenly, his voice quavered slightly, with fear or anger was unknown. "Wondering if you can do your fancy light up show when you've got no arm, virus." None of them made a move, Thrax's amused veneer dropped completely and his lit hand twitched.

"Well?" Trich barked, " Get the hell out! Now!" He fired a warning shot at their feet before Ozzy -who had inched behind Thrax, a swish of cool air pinpointing his exact position, swirled outwards, lined up a shot and fired.

He had seconds to savor the agonized expression on the fungus' face before he dissolved into a watery sludge before them.

It was a tossup who seemed most surprised at this, Thrax or Ozzy. Although in the end it was a seriously turned-on Thrax who pushed the cell against the closed door and proceeded to commandeer more of those curiously suctioning kisses from a less than unwilling Jones.

The wail of sirens prompted Ozzy to pull his face away from the virus before him, the blurry fog of desire wearing down any excuse to use his hands for anything except running it through the thick, smooth dreadlocks. Thrax's freed mouth began to retrace its fiery path down Ozzy's neck and a groan sounded out as his hair was tugged lightly, before he became aware of spurts of "Stop, _oh Frank_, stop_stop__**stop**_-" above him.

Hands grasping pliant hips, Thrax looked at the panting cell before him; the two corpses in the room not even hindering his desire to have this rebellious cell spread out and fully naked beneath him.

"Immunity is about to knock down the door, and I don't give free show baby, no matter how much you butter me up."

Thrax grinned. Delaying his plans suddenly seemed a brilliant idea after all.


End file.
